The Sickest Ones
by mea-kh
Summary: The cure's being sold on the street like drugs and Rogue needs a fix... like baaad. - Ryro. Post X3. Minors must be accompanied by adults.


**The Sickest Ones**

**By Mea-Kh**

**Summary: "If you hate it so much then why do you fucking peddle the shit?" He shrugged, moving my hair over my shoulder, "To meet girls." Then his lips attacked my neck. (Ryro. Post X3. Minors must be accompanied by adults.)**

**Disclaimer: The X-Men and their Marvel compatriots now belong to Mickey Mouse. Lucky rodent bastard. **

**Just as a reminder, this is rated M for Marvelous Motherfucking Madness NOT**__**Mindless Missish Muck. **

**Betaed by Rip the Jacker who's only just a **_**teensy**_** bit smarter than that dude at NASA who taped over their only copy of the first moon landing. So just remember, the flaws make it collectible. **

**___**

_**You would say anything**_

_**You would try anything**_

_**To escape your meaningless**_

_**And your insignificance**_

_**You're uncontrollable**_

_**And we are unloveable **_

_**-Muse, "Escape" **_

_**___**_

_Goddamn-shitass-cocksucking-motherfucker_!

Oh very eloquent, half-conscious self. Would you talk to your momma with that mouth? Probably. This particular stream of invective flowed through my mind on a semi-regular basis so I wasn't absolutely certain if my present state of irritation had any legitimate foundation... at the moment, that is. Lord knows I've been repeating those words like a mantra the last several weeks. As I experimentally opened my eyes I found that yes, I most certainly had a reason.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind waking up at the ungodly hour of... huh, 3:18 p.m. Interesting. Well, not really... when it's natural and my body says, '_Yes, I've had enough rest. Thank you very much for asking'_.But when I'm woken upintentionally by the single most determined sliver of sunlight to ever have encountered its natural predator - AKA the blackout curtain - my fight or flight reaction is to cover my face with my blanket grumble incoherent profanities whilst raising my fist and swearing sweet revenge. If this were a cartoon and I was Donald Duck or some shit I'd be throttling said cheerfully disguised ray of skin cancer and shoving it back out my window.

Sadly though, my life as it is now is decidedly lacking _any_ sort of animation. And that ray of sunlight, somehow managing to circumvent the opposition with what was in no doubt a clever and surreptitious maneuver, now lay stretched across my ghost-ish face, happily ignorant to my hatred of all things luminous.

If someone were to paint a portrait of this scene it would be titled:_ The Cure- 6 Months Later_. Depressing when I thought about however unhappy I'd been before, now seems like the good-ol'-times.

The day I stood in line for 8 hours under the blistering Californian sun wearing jeans, a hoodie and gloves, waiting for my turn to be "cured", I'd promised myself that I wouldn't waste another second of my life on regret. Convinced myself I was entering the 3rd stage, the _final_ stage, of me. I wasn't a little girl anymore and I wasn't a deadly life-sucking leech either. I saw it as returning to my roots. The way things should be. Not drowning in a pool of mutant genes orliving in the bubble of rural Mississippi ignorance.Just treading along. Simple. Like I'd always planned. Had to take an unfortunate little detour into Freakville first, but I was on my way again. Fucking finally.Little did I know that it was only the beginning of a long, seriously screwed up, cock fucked parade of disappointment and heartache. They needed to put warning labels on that shit. If there was ever a poster girl for PTSD I was it. The first time my mutation manifested left me a shivering freaked out mess. The second time was much, much worse.

About a month and a half ago I started noticing the way my skin would prickle as if an ice cube had just slid over it, leaving a trail of cool dampness. At first these cold sweats made me think I was coming down with the flu or something. Having absorbed Logan on more than one occasion meant I had a higher immune system and now that I'd gotten rid of all that hoodoo I figured it was just mother nature giving me the finger. I didn't mind. Being sick felt _normal_, and after all these years I'd take whatever I could get. But then a couple of days later I started having severe muscle spasms. Dr McCoy thought it was seizures, at first. But, as we all found out after an encounter in which I sprouted blue fur on my ass, I was simply going through withdrawal. Maybe it wasn't as traumatizing as sending your boyfriend into an indefinite coma, but the result was just the same. I was devastated.

But mostly by the fact that a certain someone wasn't quite so broken up about it.

'_It just wasn't meant to be.' _

Really? Thanks for taking it to heart, Bobby. And I wasn't entirely sure whether he meant that _we _weren't meant to be, or my being able to have a normal fucking physical relationship with someone wasn't. Either way, fuck him. I spent all this time feeling sorry for him because he couldn't touch his girlfriend, to confused as to why he didn't when he finally could, to hating him when he didn't seem to care that he couldn't again. Right. That sorta shit fucks with you. I hope you and Kitty have fun in the broom closet.

Actually, I don't.

Honestly, I can't say as I didn't see it coming. Like everyone who feels the need to impart some piece of unsolicited wisdom will tell you: if it seems too good to be true, then it probably is. But when you feel like you're being handed your first pair of Ruby Slippers you don't feel the need to check the price tag - they're magic so they've just _gotta_ fit... wait, different shoe metaphor.

You might also say I have a predilection for disappointment. I certainly set myself up enough. But really, how was I supposed to know it'd only last 6 months? The fact that it was created by faction of mutant hating scientists who, for all we new, were bent on genocide and/or world domination? They could have pumped arsenic directly into my veins and I would have said 'thank you very much, kind sir'. Gawd almighty, when was I going to grow a pair of nodes and start thinking before I jump off of cliffs?

The first time I snuck out to some dark alley and taken my first "fix" I'd felt better that I'd ever felt before in my life. Birds sang and bunnies fucked. Everyone noticed and thought I was over it, that I'd been "cured" and was a mutant again. Irony. What a bitch. Storm had seemed skeptical but happy with my progress. Later that same night Logan cornered me, practically tore my shirt sleeve (and arm) off (which a couple of years ago I might have found down right sexy), pointed at the little reddened puncture mark and forced me to confess. I'd felt like a junky. Still do. He made me promise not to do it again. Tried to convince me that since the cure hadn't worked, it could turn dangerous and that he couldn't _'lose me too'_. I caved when he gave me "the look" and said the words he'd wanted to hear. But like a true addict I hadn't stopped. Looking out for the younger students and trying to recruit new teachers kept everyone off my back for the most part, and I was easily able to sneak out and indulge in my addiction. Not that I touched anyone any more than I had before. Bobby refused to even hold my hand until I stopped taking it. Stupid fucking strait-A Bobby. If I stopped taking the cure I wouldn't be _able_ to touch.

I sighed.

I'd have to get up today.

Because while people might not notice you being absent for one day and maybe even overlook you spending two days sequestered in your room, especially if you don't contribute much anyway, by day three no matter how unsociable and taciturn you may have become there will inevitably be someone devoid of all sensibility who feels that you couldn't actually _want_ to be barricaded by the two bookshelves and desk you'd drug in front of your door (forgetting the fact that it opens outwards) and will eventually come up to see if you're still alive. But they don't fool me. They didn't really care. They just wanted to call dibs on my room. Fuck, I hate this place.

I thought about leaving the institute. A lot. But then I remembered that the only thing that made me feel safe when I left Caldecott County was the fact that if any of those greasy truck drivers touched me they'd never live to see another Adult super center again. And while I now had super scary ninja moves in my repertoire, I also liked my bed. It was comfy. And the sheets got washed every week. Plus I just didn't have the energy. And it takes a lot of energy to run away from your past. And now I had like three pasts to run from so I'd need a power bar or something before I attempted that. And Logan would eventually notice my absence and wind up dragging me back here again just so he could ignore me some more. Never mess with that man's routine. Or hair gel.

Besides, I had an appointment with the dentist today. Or at least that's what I told people... or would have, if they'd asked. Oh, but now that everyone's dead I was a grown up and could do what I wanted. I'll ask them to explain how that one works again when they catch me doing something they don't like. It's like being given a strait jacket then told to take a walk. I was wondering how long I could lie in this bed before I died from lack of showering.

At some point I realized my eyes were open because the flowery pattern of my duvet came into focus and, unfortunately, so did my new life. I silently repeated my mantra, psyching myself up, and threw the blankets off, conceding defeat to the all powerful Ra.

Stepping into the bathroom I avoided glancing in the mirror. I already knew I looked like the fucking Corpse Bride - or did I mean Lucy? Either way I was pale, made out of clay, and could only move in very small increments at a time. The stripes of white hair clinching my wraithlike persona. Just a bag of water and blood. Every time I stuck that needle in my veins a little of me leaked away and would soak into the carpet or down a drain. A balloon a week after the birthday party. Wrinkled. Rubber. Pop. I could stop any time I wanted to. It just so happens I enjoy feeling like a soggy piece of bread.

'_Let us in, Rogue - let us help you through this,' _They kept saying.

But I was tired of people being in my head. That was the whole point of taking the Cure, to politely, yet firmly show them the door. I failed to see the rainbows and silver linings and whatever the hell else they preached to me day in and day out. They kept an "eye" on me. Invading my privacy every few days just to make sure I had a fucking pulse. Telling me not to do anything... oh, what was the word they'd used? Foolish? Yeah, that's it. the only foolish thing I was guilty of was not choking myself with my mother's umbilical cord when I'd had the chance. Had I _actually_ tried to kill myself yet? I'm pretty sure I hadn't.

But I had been _hurt_, I had essentially gotten my chest carved out and been left with a shell of ribs and cartilage, and lungs that didn't work properly. You know if I could just get some sleep I think I'd be okay.

But I haven't been able to really _sleep_, like deep motherfucking R.E.M. for a while now. And I didn't care because I really didn't _feel_ all that much anymore anyway. It was all sort of grey and sticky and flat and curiously asian. Sometimes I even had to catch myself when I got dizzy and force myself to start breathing again.

I didn't even notice that the hot water was burning away whatever little skin I had left. It just passed through me altogether as if I was nothing more than a shadow or a specter. Well fuck you to.

**___**

I shivered despite the layers I'd wrapped myself in because I wasn't cold from the rain or the chilly October wind.

My source... dealer... enabler... hadn't showed the last time, so I was jonzeing really fucking bad. _He better be here tonight._ I felt desperate, like I'd do anything to get that shit inside of my veins. Maybe even let him fuck me like I know he's been wanting.

Insomnia.

Insanity.

I've heard it both ways.

I walked the 16 blocks to Pharaoh's Fifth, a bar located bizarrely on the corner of Pharaoh Ave. and 5th St. Who'd of thunk it? It made most of its revenue not in alcohol or hot wings (they didn't even have a TV to watch sports), but in renting out its neigh impregnable back alley to, well, drug dealers. Ones who had enough money and were paranoid about cops. The cops new about it, of course. Some of them even stood guard over it. Sheesh, this world needed a face lift, Botox, something to make it seem a little less like one giant rat trap. I'm totally gonna buy more than one dose so I don't have to keep coming back here for the cheese. Damn, my metaphors are getting good.

I got there about 15 minutes early so I pulled my last fag out from my pocket and lit it with my last match. I didn't normally smoke, but cigarettes took the edge off. Sometimes. Other times that weren't this one of course. And it would only calm my nerves. Stop the shaking. Not make my body feel like it wasn't wrapped in plastic or filled with metal.

I decided to give up. The only thing that had any chance of making me feel better would hopefully be here any minute. So I went inside, ordered a beer and sat down at the usual table; the one nearest the door so as soon as I got what I came for I could bolt to the nearest secluded spot and shoot the fuck up.

After I was about half way finished with my drink I looked and could see fuckforbrains (AKA my dealer) outside talking on his pink iPhone, a circumstance of which I saw absolutely nothing extraordinary. Except that he was looking directly at me at the same time he shook his head yes. Which explains why I gave him his name cause the person on the end of the line can't see you, dumb ass.

Right?

Suddenly paranoid, I glanced at my surroundings and for the first time noticed what a shit hole this place really was. The skeevy bartender aimlessly cleaning glasses with a dirty rag as if to make sure he had an alibi if the fuzz showed up. _'I swear officer, the only thing people can get here is watered down beer and tetanus. No drugs, uh uh, nope, absolutely not.' _Which might have been convincing (to a cop who just wanted to get to Dunkin' Donuts in time for happy hour) if it weren't for the track marks he was sporting on both arms. Geez, at least I had the forethought to cover mine. I wondered if he'd like some of my Power Rangers band aids. I watched him spit in the glass and polish it with the rag, then look up to see if anyone had caught him doing it. He winked at me. I thanked the flying spaghetti monster my beer came in a prepackaged bottle. I still wiped it down for good measure though.

The door opened and I remembered what I was doing before I got distracted by Mr Track- Marks van Spit-and Polish. Surveillance. I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings. Instead I've got a fucking induced ADD haze from this crap, or lack thereof, and can't seem to focus on anything I've been trained to do for the last 4 years. Recon, Rogue, you were supposed to do recon, or at least notice the two guys in the back corner leering at you like they're picturing you in a dark ally somewhere. Suddenly I felt nervous _and_ paranoidand I just wanted to get the fuck outta dodge. But with a dose so I could think strait again and not wind up in that ditch that Logan prophesied about all the time.

"Hey there, doll face," Really? Brando?

Thankfully fuckforbrains checked his small talk after taking one glance at my face and nodded his head at the bartender who brought over ffb's regular; a glass of Guiness. I didn't bother to warn him about the extra ingredient.

Moments later I felt his spidery fingers creepy-crawling up my thigh. So I jerked my leg smashing his hand under the table. The bartender glanced up at us, then decided he didn't care. Fuckforbrains looked like he wanted to hit me. Go afuckhead, I probably wouldn't feel it anyway. But instead he just nursed the possible three broken digits I gave him and gritted his teeth. "He was right, you got a temper." That's fosure, bitch. I also have a mean shin kick so watch yourself... wait, who's _he_? And more importantly, did _he_ have a dose. Because I was really loosing patience with this one. Plus I hadn't had a Triscuit in like 3 hours. That was pretty much all I ate these days. Not a whole lot of vitamins, but at least I was combating heart disease. Yey.

"What's the harm? No one _will_ touch you broken, no one _can_ touch you whole. Way I see it I'd actually be doing you a favor."

Fuck you, I'm not broken. I'm just... disabled.

"Take your favor and shove it up your fucking ass."

He sighed, "You're missing out on a good time,"

"I'd rather waste my time on reality TV," Burn baby, "Now you got the stuff or am I gonna have to go Kill Bill on your ass?"

He just shook his head and stood up.

"Come one, sweet thing, my guy wants to meet you."

Alright. I was going to go with he didn't have any. My whole body twitched at the idea.

"Let's step out back."

Everything about that sentence should have been glowing in big neon letters as a bad a idea, but all I could think was that if this was my dealers dealer than he'd _definitely_ have a dose.

So we stepped out the back door and into the impregnable ally. At least it had stopped raining. There, I found a fucking silver lining. The garbage in the dumpsters was overflowing with bottles and beer cans. I felt the earth die a little at the site. R-E-C-Y-C-L-E, tell you what it means to me, sing it with me now!

I stopped short, my foot in a puddle of piss and water when I saw exactly who was standing amidst the rubbish. I wanted to say things like; '_No motherfucking way!'_ or '_What the fuck are you doing here?'_ or '_Jesus maryfucking Christ!_,' but when I opened my mouth all that came out was:

"You look different."

He didn't even have the decency to look surprised to see me. And actually he didn't look all that different. A little more morose maybe with the James Dean jacket and cigarette dangling from his lips; longer straw colored hair and grim lines around his mouth. I blamed that on the 2 packs a day he used to smoke. He'd grown out of the awkward teenage limbs and baby-face charm too. Now he _looked _like a bad guy instead of just acting like one. Now I wish I'd been nicer to him.

"You look like shit." He replied. It was true. Cunt fuck bastard. Lord, if my momma could hear me now she'd beat me with a stick. In a moment of superb clarity I realized calling names probably wouldn't be the best way to go about getting something from a guy that already hated me. Or at least doesn't like me very much. So I replied with a meek 'thank you'.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly, the corners of his lips only rising a hairs breadth, but I was still taking stock of the differences in his appearance so I caught it. I hoped it was a good sign.

The famous lighter appeared in his hands and I heard the familiar clicking sound that used to really irritate me. Now it just irritated me. He only ever did it when he was bored or on edge. I assumed it was the former because me must know I wasn't a threat anymore. Of course you know what the say about people who assume... they get caught defenseless in dark allies. I'd gleaned from the brief moment I'd touched him outside Bobby's house when he was blowing cops up that he'd kinda sorta liked me a little at one point. Which feelings probably faded pretty rapidly after I stole his thunder and put out the cops.

"Okay, John, let's get this over with. Uncle. Pretty please with a cherry on top. Boys rule and girls drool. Whatever you fucking want me say, just give me the damn dose and we can go our separate ways ."

The lighter vanished and a smirk appeared. What I wouldn't give for a Triscuit right now.

"I don't want you to say anything Rogue. In fact I'd prefer it if you didn't talk at all."

"Then what the hades do you want?" I huffed. I wasn't in the mood to play games. Games required concentration. And right now I was thinking about the roasted red pepper dip recipe on the side of the Triscuit box.

He gave me the once over again, this time making me shiver with the lecherous undertones in his expression.

"So many things," he whispered and I almost didn't hear him.

After a few moments went by and he made no move to either continue our conversation or hand over a fucking dose I stomped over to the little black bag sitting against the wall and began rifling through it. Obviously patience was not one of the virtues my fairy godmothers had bestowed upon me at birth.

"That's not mine,' he sounded amused, goddamn it.

"What do you mean it's not yours? Where the hell is your stuff?"

"Not here,"

"You've got to be ass-fucking kidding me! This isn't funny, John. Are you trying to be funny here? Cos the only laughing that will be going on is the hysterical kind where I'm on the ground rocking back and forth with my chin tucked between my ankles cackling as I watch the blood slowly oozing from your head."

"This shits really done a number on you, hasn't it? I don't think I've ever heard you curse before."

He was still amused. It was more than I could tolerate.

"I bet you do a lot of... _things_ you couldn't do before."

Uh oh. Danger Will Robinson, danger. Judging by his now out and out leer and suggestive tone it looked like the whole fricasseed cop fiasco hadn't exactly made me repulsive to him.

"Is that what it's gonna take, John?"

"Is _what_ what it's going to take, Rogue?"

I sighed.

I should have stayed home today.

But goddamn it! I needed it. I could justify that statement a hundred different ways. It kept me benign and safe to stand next to in a crowded room. It meant that maybe one day I could be with someone who actually wanted to be with me and not turn them into a vegetable. And if sucking a dick or two along the way meant that those things could become a reality, by jove, I'd swallow his cum and my pride.

I stepped back against the wall and slid down to my knees, keeping my eyes on his face. His eyes widened minutely before a mask seemed to click into place and his features became inscrutable. Stepping towards me he positioned himself while undoing the buckle of his belt. When his pants were unzipped and completely open for me I hooked my fingers into the front of his black boxers and pulled them down until his semi-hard length was freed. I took it in my hand, he hissed above me, his forehead falling forward until it connected with the brick wall. I pumped him a few times until he was standing completely erect. I licked my lips and prepared to unhinge my jaw, because damn! he was a lot bigger than Bobby.

Apparently I wasn't the only one lacking in the patience department because before I could move one of his hands came to cradle the back of my head, holding me in place, while his other hand guided the tip of his cock to my lips.

"Open wide. little girl," he said in a strained sort of growl.

I looked up at his face as he slid into my mouth He was looking down at me, but it felt like he wasn't seeing me at all. He proceeded to do most of the work, thrusting into my mouth wile I sucked and stared up at his expression. As he came, his eyes widened instead of clenching shut like Bobby's had. Like instead of pleased he was shocked.

After I finished swallowing he withdrew and without a word fixed his pants, grabbed my forearm hauled me to my feet, drug me towards the mouth of the ally and shoved me into an old beat up Volkswagen. I chuckled at the hula dancer on the dash. He glanced at me. I didn't care what expression his face held.

"Got a cigarette?" I asked after he pulled away from the curb, even though it was like asking Elmo if he had erotic fantasies about being tickled by little children.

Still not speaking John reached over into the glove compartment and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. Extracting two he put them both in his mouth. The lighter just appeared in his had and he lit both puffing out a double quantity of smoke and silently handed me one. After taking a couple of drags I put it out on the leather seat. He didn't say anything.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, making an occasional turn. And because my brain was still enjoying its little vacation and not paying attention to a fucking thing, I had absolutely no idea where we were when we pulled up to an abandoned looking apartment complex.

John got out and strode up to the boarded over entryway and simply yanked it open. He didn't once look back at me. I could have run. But it wasn't like I was here completely against my will. So I got out and followed, a morbid curiosity taking over my fuzzy brain.

There wasn't anyone else in the lobby, but it looked used. So there might be other people living here. I could scream, if I had to. The other tenants would hear me. Of course they'd probably just want in on the action. I was so stupid.

We passed by an elevator that looked like it had fallen from the top floor and possibly killed someone. Instead we went up two flights of stairs and stopped in front of the only door in the hall still on its hinges. John just kicked it open and walked in again leaving me outside. And again I followed behind him. Something about lambs and slaughter came to mind. But then I got distracted.

"Damn, someone knocked over a Yankee Candle shop."

There were possible a hundred million candles of all shapes and sizes and scents littering the floor and what little furniture there was, along with beer cans and dirt. Snow White's wet dream. There was a mattress in the corner with a single rat eaten blanket. The floor creaked a little where I stopped. John turned towards me.

"When was the last time you took any?"

"A while. Fuckforbrains didn't show last time."

He smirked again and walked forward until we were standing less than an inch apart. I had to look up because he was taller than me. His mouth was crooked and looked really delicious. I wasn't even thinking about Triscuits. Wow, did I actually want to kiss him right now? Yes, that would be why I was suddenly leaning forward. But John gently pushed my shoulders making me step back and the floor creaked again. WTF?

He bent down and I watched as he lifted the loose floorboard I had been standing on and I suddenly felt like fainting, orgasming, and throwing up at the same time. He picked up a baggie filled with with syringes and replaced the board.

"Take off you hoodie." he commanded.

"I'm cold," and as if to back me up my body shuddered. The lighter appeared again out of fucking nowhere and with an overly dramatic magician-like wave of his arm every single candle flickered to life and a fireplace, hidden by stacks of newspapers was now cheerfully burning. I rolled my eyes to let him know I wasn't impressed.

"Better?" He asked. As if he cared.

"As if you care." Damn fucking smirk. I took off my hoodie before he had a chance to ask again. He opened the bag and took out a syringe that was only half full... or half empty. I was a pessimist. "Hey, buddy, I think I earned a full dose back there."

"Oh, you most definitely did." I fucking blushed. "I'm just giving you half now so you don't go all human leech on me. You'll get the rest after." I almost asked 'after what'. But I'd known since he dragged me sans kicking and screaming to his car what was going to go down, or whom was... again.

"You always were the sickest most selfish prick."

"Compared to Bobby the Pope would look like a sick fuck." He paused looking directly in my eyes while he skillfully jabbed the needle into my arm.

"I wasn't comparing you to Bobby." I hissed.

"No? You always used to. I'm actually curious, what does our dear little eagle scout think about you now that you have to give blow jobs next to dumpsters just so he can touch you?"

I wanted to tell him to mind his own business or to fuck off, but he'd always been an observant prick and I didn't want to give him the chance to gloat.

But apparently my silence and dour expression was enough of a tip off.

"He doesn't touch you anymore, does he?" He grinned, happy, like the dwarf. Prick. "Fuck, now I want to know why you keep doing it."

I gave him an incredulous look.

"Oh, so touching is all you care about? God, Rogue, you're more of a whore than I thought."

"John..." I sighed rubbing the mark on my arm, "you really are unforgivable sometimes."

But I was more than a little surprised by his lack of condemnation thus far. He hadn't uttered one fucking word alluding to my being "weak" and "pathetic". Maybe he sensed I already knew. Or maybe he understood and didn't judge me. Yeah, I know, more wishful thinking. He was probably just waiting for the right moment. When he had me bound and gagged on a silver platter offering me to Magneto. Because as we've learned, the cure is not permanent.

I was already feeling better by this time. At least the shaking had stopped. That might have had more to do with the giant bonfire the room had been turned into, either way I was seeing things a little more clearly.

"Wait, I thought you were against the cure. Didn't you blow up the clinic or something?"

"Mhmm," he replied, nuzzling my ear now. His breath made me shiver for a whole other reason.

"So if you hate it so much why do you fucking peddle the shit?"

He shrugged, moving my hair over my shoulder, "To meet girls," then his lips attacked my neck. I almost shrieked, thinking he was going to tear my throat out like a rabid dog or a vampire. That's just how my mind was working at the moment.

"I'm going to fuck you Rogue," he growled in my ear, "Not rape you, not make love to you. I'm going to fuck you. And you're going to like it, aren't you? Of course you are," he started pulling at my clothes. And I let him, "I want you to be naked when I fuck you so I can touch every inch of your skin. Because as long as your with me you'll always be touched."

_With_ him? Was that like an offer to move in? Did that mean I was his girlfriend? Were we going steady? God, I was so fucked up. I started getting warmer. From the candles, from John's body pressing against mine, and from the cure rushing my system telling me it's okay again, Daddy was home. Jesus H. Christ I had to lie down. Thankfully John had pretty much the same idea and picked me up. Bridal style. I thought it was cute. The guy that accepted a blow job for drugs was cute. Hell yeah. I think I might have been euphoric because none of this seemed to be wrong when I'd known for a fact not 20 minutes ago that this was the complete opposite of right. That if right was the North Pole I would at this moment be waving to penguins. Unfortunately 2012 came early and some freak gravitational alignment just made the poles shift and I was most definitely moaning right now. God, I was so embarrassed.

His lips descended harshly onto mine and we actually kissed for the first time. It was hard and desperate. His teeth bit into my bottom lip. I gasped and he shoved his tongue inside. He breathed into my mouth, blowing me up just a little. I didn't feel so soggy anymore... except in my panties. What was that about? Abruptly he pulled away, leaving me panting.

"Tell me Roguey," he teased using the nickname he'd used whenever he felt like getting punched on the shoulder or kicked in the shins, "Did you enjoy your first time with Bobby?"

I hadn't. Well, mostly because there hadn't actually _been_ a "first time" with him, or anyone else. Just making out, some hand jobs, the odd blow job here and there until... well, he didn't want to anymore. He'd used the excuse that he'd wanted to wait. Like the ignorant fool I am I thought he had meant marriage. Not just for someone else. But I'd go to hell and blow the devil before I told Johnny Boy that. Shit, he was going to find out anyway, wasn't he? I felt the tip of his cock nestle against my entrance. Yep, kinda hard to fake _not_ being a virgin. He sensed my hesitation but instead of laughing at me he groaned and whispered in my ear, "I take it back, you're not a slut, you're worse, a fucking tease."

"I'm not teasing you." I reminded him shifting my hips up pulling in a little more head.

"Not anymore," he agreed. I wasn't sure what he meant and it really didn't fucking matter because he was slowly but steadily entering me now. The corners of his mouth screwed into a grimace, "So fucking tight," he gritted out between clenched teeth. _Of course I am_! I wanted to scream. I've never had anything shoved in there before and it wasn't pleasant. But I liked it. Was that weird? A sharp pain ripped through me as the last barrier of innocence broke inside me. "Oww!" I punched his shoulder with all the force I could muster. Which couldn't have been much because he just chucked. But his face was still contorted in a painful expression. Good. Even though I was still hurting I squeezed my muscles and my walls contracted around his length even more making him hiss, "Fuck that hurts!"

"Payback's a bitch," I mumbled through gritted teeth of my own. For long minutes he remained motionless inside of me and on top of me. Which was weird.

"What are you doing." or what _aren't _ you doing.

"Giving you time to adjust."

Well fuck me dancing. "I feel honored."

"You should, I _was_ just planning on pounding you through the matters for the next few hours." For some reason that didn't sound half bad.

"I think I'm okay now."

The next instant I was lifted up and onto his lap, my legs stretched out on either side of him, his dick firmly in place. Slowly he lifted my hips up and almost completely off his length. I pulled my legs back so I was on my knees and able to move on my own.

"Go as slow as you need to till is gets comfortable."

I nodded mutely. What the hell was wrong with him? Was my insanity contagious? Reading my thoughts he added with a devilish smirk, "This time anyway, next round is on me. Or under me, as the case may be."

I put my hands in his hair, not moving much. It was still the dirty blonde unkempt mess it always was. Soft too. I leaned forward and put my cheek against it, quite content just to sit there and run my nose through it. It smelled like cigarettes. Just like everything else that got within a 10 foot radius of his person. I wondered if I smelled like that now.

"What do I smell like?" Curiosity obviously winning out over my self-respect. He inhaled once, his nose tickled my neck. "Me," he mumbled, "and that's driving me batshit crazy."

I knew it. I fucking new it. It made me happy for absolutely no reason and I never wanted to take a shower again.

"What does it feel like being inside of me?" Because I honestly wanted to know.

"What is this? Twenty-fucking-questions?" He sighed, "Like my dick's in a vice, happy?" I was. "Now will you fucking move already, I know I said take your time, but this is getting really, and I mean REALLY, _hard_." Pun intended.

I took a deep breath and let myself down completely encasing his cock. He hissed again, his fingers digging painfully into my hips. But that was okay because his back was already bleeding from my nails.

"Am I doing this right?" I asked rocking my hips backwards instead of up.

"Doesn't matter," he groaned, giving an involuntary thrust, "Either way I'm gonna come in about 10 seconds." True to his word I felt him thicken painfully inside of me, stretching me to the limit, and then hot liquid shooting inside me. I bit his shoulder. When I first took the cure I'd done some research before I found out Bobby wanted to wait, so I new women hardly ever came the first time. Still I was disappointed. He'd already come twice at my expense. Who does a girl have to fuck to get an orgasm around here? No sooner had his dick stopped twitching than I was somewhat relieved to feel him pull out of me. Even more relieved when I head him say, "Now it's your turn." Oh goody.

His fingers went to my now sopping wet pussy, which made it easy for him to slide one then two digits in. I sighed. Compared to his stiff inflexible dick these undemanding pliant appendages were heaven. They stroked and curled and rubbed parts of me I never new I had. Making the soreness dissipate. Fractionally anyway. I might have gasped his name. I wasn't sure. So when he told me to 'say it again' I really had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. I just wanted to cum, goddamn it!

"Say my name, Roguey."

Oh, okay. I opened my mouth and after a few attempts that turned into incoherent moans I finally made one sound like 'John'.

"No," he said, roughly inserting a third finger, "My _other_ name,"

"Pyro!" This time I cried it out because damn, three fingers were better than two.

"That's right," he said, pushing deeper and deeper, "Don't fucking forget it was _Pyro_ that made you moan like a fucking porn star, and it was _Pyro _that slid his dick inside you for the first time, and it's _Pyro_ that's gonna make you come harder than anyone else ever could!" Ever had, ever will, I wasn't sure if he meant past or future. Future. That bleak desolate wasteland that felt like one of those scenery paintings... looks all sprawling and lush, like it'll never end. But it's just a false front. Like the kind Wile E Coyote put in front of a boulder to trick Road Runner with. There wasn't anything beyond this point. It wasn't that it was too late. I simply grew a pair (figuratively) and _still_ thought it was a good idea to jump off the cliff.

"Come on, Roguey, cum for me," He whispered hoarsely as I writhed and wriggled. Finally I felt it. Suddenly I couldn't handle it. "Pyro, please - unh!" And I came.

I could fucking believe it.

**___**

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